The Tragedy of Emerson Verlac
by iheartcheerleading
Summary: Emerson Verlac once thought love was a ridiculous notion, something made up for children. It's not. She used to believe that the world of a shadowhunter would save her from her past. It can't. She thought he was just a boy on an exchange program. She's wrong. OC. T for obvious shadowhunter fighting, future romance, and some swearing. R&R?


Alex wasn't all that accustomed to the type of busy Miami held. He came from Florence, Italy, where people walked and talked and ate at the same time, and the hustle and bustle was almost comforting. Here, he thought, it was a crushing weight and almost being close to the city rose one's anxiety sky-high. "I'll get used to it, I suppose," he murmured to himself.

Watching the boutique windows fly by, Alex considered what the other people at the Institute would be like. Would they be inviting? Perhaps neutral? Or maybe they would be just plain out hostile and cruel.

"Hey, kid!" The taxi driver rapped on the window that separated the front seat and the back seat of the cab, drawing Alex out of his revere. "This it?" He asked the teen, nodding his head toward a large, cathedral-like, building with boards on the windows and caution tape wrapped everywhere the mudane eye could see.

As Alex looked up he smiled, knowing what the driver saw. To Alex, he saw a grand gothic cathedral, the stained glass windows glittering in the Florida sunlight.

"Yes, this is it." Alex pulled out $30 and gave it to the driver. The driver grunted in response and Alex popped the car door open. "Can you pop the trunk for me?"

The driver said nothing, but the click of the trunk opening could be heard.

Stepping out of the taxi, Alex grabbed his suitcase and slammed the trunk shut. The second he stepped on the cracked and splintered concrete, the taxi sped off, leaving him in the sun.

Alex yanked his suitcase up the steps to the building with little effort, and, before he could ask entry or knock on the Institute's door, it swung open and gave way to a middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair pulled into a messy bun and bright hazel eyes. "You must be Alex!" She exclaimed.

Alex nodded. "I am."

The woman ushered Alex and his things inside. "I'm Bethany. Call me Beth. I run the this joint, and try to control the three teenagers that try to burn it down. Sadly, one of them is my daughter. Please tell me you aren't a pyro too?"

Beth looked at Alex with a half weary, half-joking smile when she said that, and he chuckled. "No, ma'am. I'm not a pyromaniac."

"Alex, please do call me Beth. Ma'am is too old, don't you think? I think the three are up in the training room. You want me to take you to them?"

"Sure. Why not?"

As Beth took Alex through the winding hallways and up many staircases, Alex noticed how scattered things were. He noticed random pairs of shoes thrown about the place and several seraph blades that Beth grabbed to put away in the weapon's room. There was one elevator that stopped on four of the five floors, but it was malfunctioning and Bethany's husband was on business in Alicante the Glass City. The dining hall and kitchen was on the first floor, the infirmary and living quarters on the second where they stopped off to put Alex's things in an open room, and the library and weapon's room were on the third. Two-thirds of the third floor was the training room and the rest was where Bethany's office was located. The fifth floor was storage and such, an attic of sorts.

"Well, this is it, Alex. Be warned, blades and arrows will probably be airborne. They like to... practice on each other, you could say, so prepare yourself." A steeled look overcame Beth's face and unease snaked through Alex.

Alex rolled his eyes. She was surely joking, right? They wouldn't _actually_ throw or shoot things at each other? Or would they? He shook it off as jet lag-or portal lag to be politically correct-getting to him.

Bethany's hand wrapped around the door handle and threw it open. Whispers could be heard, and then a giggle. Beth stepped inside the room and Alex followed, all seeming too normal for the circumstance that the older woman had described.

The second Alex came out from behind the door's safe shelter, a silver knife flew past his face, nicking his cheek ever so slightly and leaving a papercut sized cut, and into the wall behind him. Bethany turned fuming to the three teenagers that stood in the center of the room, her eyes narrowed in a glare that only an experienced mother could obtain. "EMERSON CATHERINE VERLAC! How _dare_ you throw a knife at our guest!?" She shrieked. Alex winced at the sound.

The girl who Alex assumed was Emerson shrugged. The act enraged Beth even more. Beth's chest heaved and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she seemed to have gathered her rage. "Emerson, please try not to decapitate the boy." With that, the mother left the room, leaving Alex all but visually spluttering. What had just happened?

There was Emerson, who was straightening her pose from its bent over form, a blonde girl who looked an awful lot like Bethany, and a boy with mischievous eyes and a smile to beat them. "You're Alex, right? I'm horrible with names. As in I had to shorten Miss Emerson's name to Emmy." The blonde slung her arm over Emerson's shoulder and crinkled her nose in a joking way.

"It's Emerson, Riley," Emerson sighed. "But, I don't think you'll possibly remember that by chance will you?"

"Nope," the blonde-or Riley as Emerson had called her-grinned, popping the "p" as she did so.

The boy finally jutted in, bumping Riley in the shoulder as he stepped forward. Riley scowled at the boy's back. "I'm Chris," he said, sticking his hand out.

Alex took it. "Alex."

Chris nodded. "That's Emerson, if you haven't figured it out, and that air-head blonde is Riley." Chris sent a cheesy grin where his nose and eyes crinkled behind his shoulder to Riley who in return glared at the dark-haired boy. Chris turned back around and leaned forward to whisper, "Be warned, those two are worse than thieves. They're_ parabatai_."

Chris drew back and shoved the seraph blade in his hand into his weapon's belt. Alex blinked. Was he going to be warned about a flying pig next?

Riley bounded up next to him and squinted at him. "You look like a Gucci model," she muttered to herself.

Alex cracked a grin and looked down on the shorter girl. "I'm Italian."

Riley rolled her eyes. "Obviously. You _are_ coming from Florence. I'm not that much of an air-head."

Emerson snorted. "Unlikely!" She sang.

Alex looked at the girl. Her light brown hair was pulled back sharply, accenting her elegant features, and her amber brown eyes stood out beneath her dark lashes. She seemed beautifully and elegantly tragic, like Shakespeare's _Hamlet_. Alex wondered what made her that way.


End file.
